Dwelling in Possibility

every home a puzzle

When I enter someone’s home, I start looking. I mean - I look hard. This could potentially make people uncomfortable, but fortunately no one notices. That is, until I start asking questions.

“Has your bathroom lightbulb always been so blue?”

“Is this the original wood paneling, or was it added?”

“Did there used to be a door here?”

“Where did you order this wallpaper? Can you text me the website?”

“This is clever - did you make it yourself? What type of saw did you use? Where do you do your cutting? How do you manage the sawdust? Oh - a hepa filter on a shop vac? Could I have a look at it? And can you text me the website?”

Once, during a child’s birthday party, I spent a full hour measuring the cubic dimensions of the 18th-century fireplace at the end of their kitchen, and the dimensions of the kitchen as well. And I don’t mean just length by width; I’m talking window dimensions, doors, ceiling height, counter widths - the whole banana. Then I made a little sketch (it might have been on graph paper, which I just happened to have with me).

I really liked that room.

Some might consider this behavior a little weird, or yet another indication that I have a neurological home somewhere “on the spectrum”. I consider both points to be fair and likely, and they bolster my sense of fitness for this particular passion.

Several years ago I was introduced to a big, tan brick of a book: A Pattern Language by Christopher Alexander, et al.

Here is my attempt to sum up this book in two points:

• over centuries, humans have evolved beautiful and functional “patterns” for living

• these patterns can provide guidance on how to structure communities, homes and the details within homes, in order to create environments in which people wish to dwell

The list could be made much longer, but that’s just a snapshot, to give you the gist. In the book, Alexander covers everything from Independent Regions (pattern #1 - cities and metropolitan regions) to Things From Your Life (pattern #253 - essentially, the meaningful objects that people want to hang on their walls and place on their tables). In between those poles, he offers insights on 251 other points, including: Natural Doors and Windows, Food Stands, Network of Paths and Cars, Front Door Bench, Ring Roads, Child Caves, Sunny Place, Roof Layout, Workspace Enclosure and oh so very much more.

This human-led, time-tested, generative approach to design rejects the types of order that it deems top-down, theory-driven, fashion-y or simply anti-life:

Needless to say, A Pattern Language is not universally beloved among architects, artists and designers, but it’s pure theory-porn to a mind like mine. It satisfies my desire to find order in the disparate details of the world, and emboldens my sense that interior and landscape design can enhance your everyday life - but only if they create spaces and environments in which people truly wish to dwell.

Granted, I don’t agree with every point in A Pattern Language (for instance, placing the children’s bedroom as far as possible from the parent’s is an idea that I find terrifying, though I’m sure many would find it appealing), but the idea that we can build and renovate and DIY and plant and rearrange specifically for the purpose of creating a joyful, nourishing environment - well, that idea is basically my job description.

And I believe it is what people are seeking when they walk into Walmart or Target or Ikea or Arhaus, and leave with a car full of readymade stuff that they most likely don’t need. People are encouraged to “shop the look”. We see something on the screen or in a magazine, and we inject ourselves into that space, thinking Oh How Nice It Would Be…

But there’s a difference between pasting yourself into a photo of a design layout, and your actual lived experience inside your specific space. Most issues can’t be solved with throw pillows and a Himalayan salt lamp.

Over the years, in the various apartments and houses that I have called home, I’ve gained an appreciation for the systemic nature of order within a household. Things must be done from the bottom up, because:

• a throw pillow is negligible if the chair is uncomfortable

• the comfort of the chair is pointless unless the chair is placed in a spot where you actually want to sit

• the nice pillow, comfortable chair and perfect placement mean nothing if the chair is buried beneath a big pile of clutter

To solve these issues, a maintainable system of cleaning and organization must be devised and practiced; rooms must be designated and laid out thoughtfully; and furniture and built-ins should be custom made or chosen to be just right for the use and location. Then - and only then - may you “shop the look” for some appropriate throw pillows, if you insist upon it.

And if you can’t immediately find or afford the furniture that you truly want, resist the urge to go out and spend a moderate amount of money on something “good enough”. Instead, I highly recommend scavenging or purchasing a “placeholder” - something free or cheap and secondhand to fit the basic form of what you need, until you can find, build or save up for what you really want.

Placeholder: well-loved $120 sectional from the Re-Store, the right size and shape for its purpose. Essentially a big sponge for melted ice-pops and wet dog fur - does the job for the time being.

There are certain professionals, architects and interior designers who build, renovate and decorate with these life-enhancing goals in mind (Christoper Alexander was such a professional), which is a nice service if you can find it and afford it.

But lacking that, it is quite possible to do it yourself - you just have to be methodical. I’m working on mapping such a method and expanding it into a course, which I intend to offer when I launch my website.

And working on this is satisfying my urge to make dimensional maps of other people’s living spaces. For the moment.